


New Hire

by WandersUnderStarlight



Series: What Makes A Monster [8]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Awkward Flirting, M/M, Spark-Eater, Supernatural Elements, Were-Creatures, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandersUnderStarlight/pseuds/WandersUnderStarlight
Summary: There are some things that scare even creatures of the dark-cycle





	1. The Rumor

Few things frightened other-worlders quite like the mention of a spark-eater. It seemed that even amongst the beings of the dark-cycle there were some long held prejudices against certain creatures. So when reports started coming in about deactivated mecha-animals missing their spark cases, a sort of tense anticipation had fallen over the population of other-worlders of Iacon. 

Jazz got so many random offers from his bar patrons for an escort home every night, that it got ridiculous. Nevermind the fact that he lived on the top floor of the very building where the bar was located.

Prowl and the pack stayed close, finding excuses to keep at least one packmate near Jazz and Ricochet at all times.

The alpha seemed particularly unsettled. He was currently stalking back and forth restlessly across the living room, optics flashing between blue and gold. Unconscious of the fact that his claws kept sliding in and out of his digits. Jazz carefully extricated himself from the puppy pile of mechs on the couch and placed himself in front of the twitchy beastformer. That at least, stopped Prowl from pacing a furrow into the floor.

Jazz cupped the beastformer’s faceplates in his servos. “‘Ey. Ya alrigh’ there, Prowler?”

It was a testament to how stressed he was that it took him a klik to actually focus on Jazz.

“...My apologies. I am just... worried.”

“Why? Ain’t like anythin’ coul’ sneak up on us, even if there is a spark-eater hangin’ ‘round.”

Prowl frowned, “That would be true of any creature that wasn’t a spark-eater. They have the rather dangerous ability to appear as a normal Cybertronian for all intents and purposes. They do not smell, look, nor teek as an other-worlder until it is too late.”

Jazz had learned to keep an open processor when it came to creatures he knew nothing but stories about. He tended to try and see the best in bots, and not base his opinions of them based on their type. So far that had mostly kept him out of trouble and endeared him to the other-worlders.

“Look, I know ya’re worried, pit, I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t worried too, but maybe this one ain’t lookin’ t’ hurt anybot.” 

There were clamors of disbelief from the anxious pack of canis beastformers in his living room.

“Hey!” Jazz said sharply, cutting through the noise. “Listen t’ me fo’ a klik. There ain’t been no bodies of mechs found. If it is a spark-eater roamin’ ‘round, at least they seem t’ be keepin’ their meals to mecha-animals. Surely tha’ must mean tha’ they don’ mean no harm. They still ‘ave t’ feed themselves, righ’?"

Prowl’s doorwings did that _up-down_ flick that meant he was thinking.

“Perhaps…”

Jazz sighed and gave the alpha a quick kiss. “If ya coul’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout it fo’ a few breems I need yar help with th’ ‘Help Wanted’ signs I’m gonna put in The Beat and the witches’ shop. It’s gotten t’ th’ point tha’ I need a second pair o’ servos.”


	2. The Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new face appears at The Beat.

“Um, excuse me, I saw the sign for the open position and I was wondering if it was still available?”

Jazz looked up from his data pad. He was standing behind the bar with Ricochet who was counting bottles to help him take inventory. Ricochet had volunteered to help Jazz even though it was his day off. A true show of brotherly love, even if he’d complained for the first ten minutes. Meanwhile, Smokescreen was making himself useful by moving boxes of stock. 

A yellow minibot stood in the open doorway of The Beat with a tentative smile on his dermas. Smokescreen came out of the back room carrying a stack of boxes that were obviously _way_ too heavy for a single bot to be carrying. He stopped short at the sight of the unknown bot, delicately sniffed the air and surreptitiously set down the stack. A regular bot, then? That might pose a small problem.

Jazz offered the minibot a friendly, if slightly guarded, smile. “Yeah, th’ job’s still open. Come on in.”

Not that there hadn’t been any interest in the position. Several folks (other-worlders) had already interviewed, but none of them had quite been right for the job. One had just been trying to get free drinks (Annoying). Another had been trying to flirt with Jazz (A ‘misunderstanding’ of what the sign ‘Help Wanted’ meant). And one had suggested an extermination plan to get rid of Sparky (Unacceptable).

The yellow bot stepped inside and looked around admiringly, “Wow, this place is even better than Trailbreaker described.”

Jazz felt his struts relax. “So I take it ya know wha’ an other-worlder is.”

“Oh, yeah.” He scratched at one of the diminutive horns on his helm a little sheepishly. “Sorry if I don’t seem like one. I’ve got an other-worlder way back in my carrier’s sparkline.”

Huh, he must be one of those “special sparks” Trailbreaker had told him about.

Smokescreen huffed and picked up the boxes again. Ricochet smirked at his beau and took the data pad from his brother to continue the inventory.

Jazz walked over to one of the tables and sat down gesturing to the seat opposite him. “I’m Jazz, Keeper of Neutral Ground, and ya are?”

The minibot’s optics lit with understanding and he hopped up onto the chair. “I’m Bumblebee. It’s nice to meet you Keeper Jazz.”

“Jus’ Jazz is fine. Are ya from ‘round ‘ere?”

“No. I just moved here from Altihex. I’ve been looking for work, but I’m used to the dark-cycle joors they keep in my previous home, so the pickings have been slim. Then I met Trailbreaker at his shop and saw your flier. He encouraged me to come by. Said this was the best place for other-worlders in the city.”

Jazz’s spark warmed at the thought of the kind witch giving him a good recommendation. “Well, I’ve learned t’ trust Trailbreaker’s advice. Now, do ya ‘ave any experience bartending?”

“Uh…” Bumblebee seemed to suddenly realize that he was having his interview right that moment. “Well, not really, but I do know my way around mineral potions.”

“Tha’s a start.” Jazz gave him an encouraging smile. “An’ ‘ow’s yar people skills?”

“Oh, pretty good, I guess. I mean, I get along with just about everybot.”

“Good. An’ ‘ow do ya feel ‘bout Kremzeeks?”

“Kremzeeks?”

Jazz clicked his glossa and pulled out a couple of small power cells from subspace, rattling them in his servo. Sparky’s glowing form popped up from his little nest behind the bar. He trilled and bounced over to the table, then perched lightly upon Jazz’s shoulder. Jazz fed him one of the power cells and scritched the top of his head.

“You… you let him stay?” Bumblebee sounded strangely awed. Jazz glanced out of the side of his visor and was surprised at the look of naked hope that crossed the minibot’s optics before it was quickly masked.

The Polyhexian chose not to mention the look and continued the conversation. “O’course. Lil guy took a bit o’ a shine t’ me an’ ‘e ain’t hurtin’ anybot. ‘Ere.” He held the second power cell out to the other mech. “Ya can feed ‘im if ya want.”

Bumblebee took the power cell gingerly. Sparky hopped down to the table and started to bounce excitedly in front of the minibot. This was a test that Jazz had come up with to see how accepting a bot was. And if Sparky liked them. Perhaps it was a little mean, but it certainly got telling results.

And just like Jazz had expected, Bumblebee passed with flying colors. He chuckled and held out the power cell in his open palm, letting the Kremzeek take it and gobble it down without flinching. The Kremzeek purred.

“Tell ya wha’.” Jazz said, making a spontaneous decision. “Why don’ we give ya a trial period o’ two decacycles. See if ya like th’ job, then we can go from there. Ya’ll be paid fo’ yar time, o’course. An ya can start as soon as yar able. Sound good?”

Bumblebee perked up happily. “Really? I mean, yes! I can start tomorrow night. That’s… that’s not too soon, is it?”

Jazz laughed. “I’ll see ya here at th’ start o’ the dark-cycle tomorrow, yeah? Show ya th’ ropes.”

The minibot beamed. “Thank you! I’ll be here!” He reached out and petted the top of Sparky’s head. The Kremzeek shamelessly soaked up the attention.

The Polyhexian had a good feeling about the minibot. They shook servos and Bumblebee left with a jaunty little bounce to his step. Jazz went back around to the other side of the bar counter where his brother was waiting with a skeptical look on his faceplates.

“Tha’ went well,” Ricochet commented lightly, “although, ya don’ know th’ first thing ‘bout ‘im.”

“Tha’s wha’ th’ trial period is for,” Jazz shot back dryly.

Ricochet held up one servo in surrender while handing over the data pad with his other. “Not sayin’ nothin'. It’s yar bar, ya run it like ya want.”

Smokescreen gave a snort from the back room. “Prowl’s going to have some things to say about that.”

Jazz answered impishly, “I know ‘ow t’ deal with Prowl.”

Ricochet groaned. “I don’ want details.”

“Oh really? Even if it could ‘elp ya with yar own puppy?”

Smokescreen’s helm popped out from the back room, “Hey!”

Jazz just laughed.

They worked on into the evening just before it was time to open. The first other-worlder to show up was Prowl, himself. His face was grim, optics bleeding to gold the moment he stepped through the door.

“Wha’s wrong?” Jazz asked, stepping into the beastformer’s space and letting himself be encircled by the mech’s arms. Prowl had told him when they’d first began dating that Jazz’s proximity usually helped calm him down. 

Prowl seemed to be taking full advantage of that right at the moment, first by gently rubbing his cheekridge on one of Jazz’s audial horns and then dipping his helm to snuffle against Jazz’s shoulder.

While it was cute, it was also a testament to how stressed the beastformer was.

“Alpha?” Smokescreen questioned cautiously.

Prowl huffed a vent. “I have just received word from Red Alert about something I was afraid would happen with rumors of a spark-eater. There are Hunters in Iacon making an official inquiry.”

Smokescreen growled and yanked a bewildered looking Ricochet into a protective embrace almost as if on instinct.

Jazz cycled his optics. “Um, somebot want t’ clue me in as t’ wha’ tha’ means?”


	3. The Minibot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumblebee's first dark-cycle on the job.

Hunter Enclaves, it turned out, were as diverse as other-worlders.

Prowl explained what he knew of the Hunter’s culture to Jazz and Ricochet with the pack gathered at the brother’s home later that dark-cycle. One of the moons hung full in the sky, so the beastformers were piled on and around each other in their canis forms. 

Full moons didn’t necessitate a beastformer to change into their beast alts, not even on Alignment when both were full, but the beastformers felt more settled when shifted on such dark-cycles. (At least Prowl’s pack did anyway.)

Ricochet had claimed a couch to lay down on since he actually needed to get up fairly early the next cycle. Smokescreen had sprawled over the orange-visored mech, his turbo-wolf form nearly engulfing the smaller Polyhexian. Ricochet had grumbled about being crushed, but didn’t push him off.

Skids and Streetwise had briefly scuffled over the other couch until Prowl had growled at them causing them to begrudgingly settle down and share. Ten breems later, they were curled around each other.

Bluestreak, Nightbeat and Barricade were piled in a mishmash of plating on the floor. 

Prowl was curled around Jazz, nearly encircling him. His large canine helm laying in Jazz’s lap, the warm bulk of his body at Jazz’s back and his tail brushing Jazz’s legs. He spoke softly into the quiet living room as Jazz stroked his helm.

According to Prowl, the Hunters as a whole were an organization dedicated to hunting supernatural creatures that threatened the lives of normal Cybertronians. They had various connections globally to track down suspicious supernatural activity.

Ostensibly, each Enclave followed a Code, but until they knew which Enclave was coming to Iacon, they wouldn’t know what type of Hunters they were going to be dealing with. Some Enclaves were lenient while other were malicious.

It was concerning, but all Jazz and Ricochet could do was soothe the raised hackles of the pack by letting them stay the dark-cycle. The beastformers eventually all migrated into one big puppy pile on the floor. All except Prowl and Smokescreen who followed Jazz and Ricochet to their individual rooms for snuggles when the brothers went to their berths.

Jazz pushed the worry about Hunters to the back of his processor the next cycle to focus on the more immediate concern of Bumblebee’s first shift at The Beat.

The minibot showed up a little early for his shift, a small, nervous smile in place. Jazz did his best to put the mech at ease while explaining where the different taps were and how to run the register. Jazz wasn’t going to make Bumblebee run tables his first dark-cycle. He’d be exclusively behind the bar. The visored mech had pulled a small step stool out of the storage room and placed it there for the minibot before he’d arrived since the bar was for Jazz-sized mechs. He’d come up with a more permanent solution if it worked out.

Jazz told Bumblebee not to worry about the potions that night, either. Some of the other-worlders were very particular about who they let give them potions. Jazz’s position of Keeper afforded him a lot of trust. Until Bumblebee was a more known face, some of the patrons would be wary and might not order from him.

The minibot listened intently to instructions and asked questions. He smiled gratefully at the step stool, though neither of them spoke about it. Sparky woke up from where he’d been napping in his nest about halfway through Jazz’s instructions. After recognizing his new friend from the previous cycle, he started demanding attention by racing back and forth along the bar top in a tiny electric ball. Jazz just sighed in fond exasperation.

Bumblebee chuckled at the demons antics. “So, What’s his name?”

“Oh, did I not tell ya? It’s Sparky.” Jazz grabbed a power cell from subspace and fed it to the excited critter. Really, he should buy stock in a couple of the power cell companies; he spent enough money buying them as snacks for the Kremzeek.

“Cute.” Bumblebee said with a soft smile.

They finished up the basics with the accompaniment of an excitedly chittering Kremzeek which bounced from bar top to Jazz’s shoulder and, briefly, to Bumblebee’s helm. Then Jazz turned on the open sign for The Beat and they began the wait for the first customers of the dark-cycle.

Prowl, Barricade, Nightbeat and Streetwise showed up first. The four beastformers greeted Jazz cheerfully, though Barricade seemed distracted the moment he walked in. Prowl crowded into Jazz’s space to get his customary “hello nuzzle” as Jazz called it. After which he introduced himself to Bumblebee. Any nervousness the minibot had previously appeared to dissipate at the beastformer’s show of affection. Something Prowl had planned, probably. 

Things seemed to be going well until Barricade got closer to the bar and got a look at the new bot. He stopped short making Nightbeat and Streetwise slam into his back. The three of them went down in front of the bar counter in a tangle of limbs and dismayed growls and yips.

Which is, of course, when Mirage and Hound walked in.

Mirage pursed his dermas elegantly, “I don’t recall brawling being allowed,” he said with mild disapproval, though both he and Hound looked amused.

The three on the floor clamored denials and blame. Some sharper-than-normal denta snapped at each other. Jazz grabbed hold of Sparky when it looked like he wanted to jump gleefully into the pile.

“Get up.” Prowl said impatiently, with a gruff sound punctuating the statement for good measure.

They did so with an embarrassed shuffle. Each had shifted slightly, eyes gold and audial shells laid flat to their helms. They subtly shoved each other back and forth like a bunch of younglings.

The Winter Fae sniffed disdainfully before sitting at his and Hound’s usual table. It was close to the bar, and after he and Hound got settled he turned to Bumblebee with a charming smile. “Lovely to meet you. I am Mirage of the Winter Court.”

Hound gave a friendly wave. “And I’m Hound of the Summer Court.”

“Oh, wow… I mean, I’m Bumblebee… of Altihex previously, now of Iacon… I guess.”

The two Fae just smiled at his fumbling and then told Jazz to surprise them with whatever new drink he’d come up with lately.

After the beastformers were done with their silent squabbling, they shifted back to full mech mode and made friendly introductions. Nightbeat and Streetwise then wandered off to claim a booth while Barricade sat himself pointedly at the bar. And stared at Bumblebee.

The minibot shifted awkwardly. “So… Barricade right? C-can I get you something?”

Barricade’s optics flickered in confusion. “Huh?”

Jazz glared at the boltjackal from over Bumblebee’s shoulder and the beastformer suddenly seemed to realize he was making the new bot uncomfortable.

“Uh! I mean, yes.”

“Okay… so what would you like?”

“...Sweetsteel Potion.”

“Oh, I can’t do the potions yet, but I’m sure Jazz can get it for you.” Bumblebee started to turn away.

Panic flashed over Barricade’s faceplates. “Wait! Um, I want something else, then.” His optics swept the bar menu quickly.

From across the room Streetwise yelled out, “He wants a Minibot!” 

Barricade spun around in his seat and gave his packmates a betrayed glare. Nightbeat started to giggle madly. Bumblebee looked a little stunned.

And Jazz instantly realized what was going on. 

He decided to take pity on the poor, embarrassed beastformer.

“A Minibot is a shot of Iaconian engex mixed with a shot of Polyhexian high-grade.” Jazz spoke up, diffusing the tension. He pointed it out on the menu to Bumblebee and shooed Prowl over to the booth where his packmates were sitting. “Ya remember where those are?”

The yellow bot nodded, relieved, and quickly mixed up the drink, artfully moving the step stool around with him as he worked. He set the drink in front of Barricade, who had sunk down into his chair. The beastformer chanced a glance at him.

“I’m sorry about them… and me. I just… you smell nice.” He winced the moment the words left his mouth. “...That probably sounded weird to you.” He huffed. “I’m bad at this.”

Fortunately, Bumblebee chuckled, not unkindly. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not used to it either.”

Barricade gave a confused head tilt. “What? But you’re adorable.” Apparently, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud because his optics flared gold for a klik with mortification and he clapped his servo over his mouth. Behind him, Nightbeat and Streetwise nearly fell out of the booth laughing. But while he looked nonplussed, Bumblebee also looked oddly charmed.

That was bound to be interesting, if anything came of it.

Jazz hummed happily to himself and finished mixing up the drinks for Mirage and Hound as more customers began to arrive. A couple of joors in, the bar was full. As the dark-cycle progressed, Jazz read the room and was pleased that Bumblebee’s presence seemed to be mostly well received. 

The visored mech was serving a table when he felt a scrabbling on his pede. Thinking it was Sparky trying a new way to get his attention, he looked down to gently reprimand him. The words died unspoken on his glossa. 

It wasn’t Sparky.

It was Red Alert’s favorite red turbo-rat ghoul frantically pawing at his plating. Jazz crouched and offered a servo for it to hop on. It ignored the servo, squeaking in agitation.

“Wha’s th’ matter? Is Red okay?”

The rat’s attention suddenly snapped to the door of The Beat. Jazz looked up just as three unknown mechs entered. There was a large green construction bot who looked around curiously, a blaster sat in a holster on his leg. Beside him was a white and grey bot with red and green accents. He was smaller than his companions, yet appeared more menacing, carrying a pair of swords strapped to his back. The last bot was leading the other two. He was a convoy class mech colored blue, red and white.

Somebot gasped and yelped out a panicked, “Hunters!”

It was like a music player got turned off. Noise stopped abruptly. The bar fell silent.

The smallest bot grinned cockily. “What a welcome.”

The convoy class mech frowned back at the bot and said warningly, “Don’t, Wheeljack.”

He turned to the room and put his servos up placatingly. “We mean you no harm. I am Ultra Magnus.” He indicated first the big green bot and then the smaller swordmech. “This is Bulkhead and Wheeljack. We are part of the Wrecker Enclave, and we come to this Neutral Ground only to ask you about the spark-eater sightings.”

Jazz’s spark fluttered with nervous dread as the Hunter’s optics found his, seemingly able to pinpoint him as the Keeper.

He stood carefully and straightened to his (admittedly not-very-impressive) height. “Do ya know th’ rules o’ this Neutral Ground?”

“Yes, Keeper.”

“An’ do ya swear t’ abide by ‘em?”

Ultra Magnus bowed his helm, “I so swear.”

“I so swear,” Bulkhead echoed, and after a klik and a nudge from the green bot, Wheeljack muttered, “Yeah, yeah, I swear.”

Jazz let that hang in the air for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, gentlebots, come have a seat and a drink.”

He hoped that seeing the Hunters following him obediently would put the other-worlders at ease. But if some of them snuck out while the Hunter’s backs were turned, he wouldn’t blame them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not obvious, I'm using the characterizations of Ultra Magnus, Bulkhead and Wheeljack from Transformers:Prime. So, expect Wheeljack to be sort of a snarky bitch.


	4. The Inquiry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are asked and pedes are inserted into intakes.

Jazz sat the Hunters at the bar and tried to keep up a cool facade as Sparky jumped up onto his shoulder and gave a little warning hiss at the mechs.

“Easy lil’ guy,” he murmured.

Wheeljack snorted. “Is that your guard turbo-hound? I could piff that thing with one strike.”

“Don’t do that! It obviously belongs to the Keeper.” Bulkhead said quickly. “Besides, it’s kinda cute.” His optics darted over to Jazz as if checking that what he’d said was okay. Jazz rewarded him with a small smile.

Prowl sat down at the bar a few seats away. The Hunters looked at him and he looked back with golden optics.

“Oh, I was wrong.” Wheeljack snarked. “ _That’s_ your guard turbo-hound.”

Prowl didn’t even twitch. Just continued to stare the Hunters down.

“Wheeljack, be quiet before you get yourself thrown out.” Ultra Magnus said flatly. He inclined his helm to Prowl politely and then turned his attention to Jazz. “We would like to ask some questions of your patrons.”

Jazz gestured with much more confidence than he was feeling at the posted bar menu. “Drinks first. Then questions.”

Ultra Magnus gave a resigned sigh, as if this was a price to be paid for getting his information. And perhaps it was in his processor. But he did order a light, uv filtered engex. Bulkhead asked for the glittering Flutterspark potion which earned him a scoff from Wheeljack. The swordsmech, rather predictably, asked for Kaonite high-grade. It was a stereotypical tough-bot drink.

Jazz took care of the engex and potion, asking Bumblebee to fill up the cube of Kaonite high-grade. The minibot moved stiffly, but did as he was told.

When he served the drink to the swordsmech, Wheeljack grinned a little meanly and leaned on the bar chanting to him,

“Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome,  
He'll eat your soul,  
Turn your spark to stone,  
Nickel, iron, cobalt, chrome,  
Run, little robot, run away home.”

A low, warning growl rumbled from beside them; originating from Barricade’s chest. His optics bled from red to gold. Wheeljack just sent him a challenging little smirk.

Both Bulkhead and Ultra Magnus frowned.

“Hey, knock it off, ‘Jackie.” Bulkhead chided.

Bumblebee turned big, scared optics onto Jazz pleadingly, terror coming off his tightly wound EMF. The Polyhexian grabbed two pitchers of mixed drinks and herded him around the bar to where the boltjackal was sitting.

“Will ya do me a favor an’ go round th’ tables t’ see if anybot needs a refill? Barricade, ya ‘elp carry these, ‘kay? They’re real full.” He gave a pitcher to each of them and shooed them away from the bar. Barricade sent one more glare at the swordsmech before following the minibot, hovering protectively.

Jazz walked back around and faced the trio of Hunters. He put both servos on the counter top and leaned forward.

“A’ight. So, ya’re Hunters. Tell me wha’ tha’ means.”

Ultra Magnus straightened up, concerned. “Surely you know?”

“Wha’ I know it tha’ Hunters ain’t one group with one creed. I don’ know ya, so tell me. What kinda Hunters are ya?”

Ultra Magnus nodded in understanding and replied. “We are the Wrecker Enclave. We live by a code: ‘We hunt those who hunt us’.”

Jazz mulled that over. It was deceptively simple. 

The blue and white mech seemed to sense his hesitation. He went on to explain, “We only hunt other-worlders who knowingly do harm to others and only if we have proof. We do not kill younglings, no matter the creature. And we do not kill normal Cybertronians.”

“So why are ya ‘ere, then?” Jazz asked with a frown. “Nobot’s been hurt as far as I know.”

“That’s why we’re doing an Inquiry.” Bulkhead spoke up earnestly.

“So ya’re gatherin’ evidence? Wha’ else d’ ya think ya’ll find b’sides rumors o’ dead mecha-animals?”

Ultra Magnus shrugged. “We don’t know yet. All we know is that our current evidence points to a spark-eater. We need to be sure before moving forward.”

“I can tell you what I have seen with my own optics.” Prowl spoke up unexpectedly. “I work with the Enforcers on occasion as a consultant and I have seen the aftermath of two of the reported incidents.”

Ultra Magnus turned to the alpha, a look of gratitude in his optics. “Any information you could provide would be helpful, thank you.”

Prowl described the corpses of the mecha-animals that had been found in detail, but succinctly. Emboldened by the seeming control that Jazz had over the visitors, three more other-worlders stepped forward to tell the Hunters what they had seen and heard. Ultra Magnus asked questions while Bulkhead took notes and Wheeljack made a nuisance of himself, making off-color jokes and sly near-insults to those around him. Jazz was quickly becoming tired of him.

Bumblebee and Barricade came back to the bar when their pitchers were empty. Jazz quickly whipped up another concoction and sent them back out again.

When it seemed as if no more bots would approach the Hunters, Ultra Magnus leaned back slightly and sighed, “I admit that it relieves me to hear that there has been no sign of harm to bots. If it is a spark-eater, it seems to have control of itself, at least.”

Wheeljack made a disparaging sound. “It’ll slip up eventually. It won’t be able to help itself.”

“Wha’ d’ ya mean?” Jazz asked with a curious helm tilt.

“Nothing can fight its own nature.” The swordsmech drained his cube and set it down hard on the bar top. “Let me ask you something, Keeper. What do you know about spark-eaters?”

“Only sparkling-tales, really.” Jazz readily admitted, petting Sparky to keep him calm.

Wheeljack gave a not-very-nice smile. “Spark-eaters are powerful and monstrous predators. They’ve had many names over the millenia: Cybervores, Soulsnatchers... The Nightmare with a Thousand Names. The mere mention of them can invoke a sense of supernatural terror even among battle-hardened warriors. They track their prey by the intensity of their spark energy. The brighter and more beautiful the spark, the tastier it appears to a spark-eater. They are able to immobilize and kill without making physical contact, through powers no bot can explain. Once consumed, the sparks linger in their abdomens and are slowly digested, forever denied the Well of Primus.”

There was the sound of a crash from across the room. Bumblebee stood trembling, staring numbly at the fallen pitcher on the floor. Fortunately, he and Barricade were standing in front of Mirage and Hound’s table and the Fae were looking at him with concern. Barricade looked torn between wanting to comfort the minibot somehow and not knowing what to do with his servos, which still held a pitcher of fuel.

Wheeljack grunted, optics sharpening suspiciously. “What’s his problem?”

“It’s prob’ly th’ present company.” Jazz snapped tersely. 

He saw Hound lean in and murmur something to the minibot. The Fae made a small motion with his servo. The spilled drink flowed back into the pitcher, which then righted itself.

Wheeljack snorted derisively. “If he can’t handle the facts then he shouldn’t be working in a bar full of monsters.”

And _that_ was enough of that. Jazz drew himself up. “Get out.” he ordered flatly.

The swordsmech had the audacity to look disgruntled. “What? Why?”

“Ya come in ‘ere, actin’ intimidatin’, insultin’ everybot an’ start spreadin’ tales o’ terror. Then ya ‘ave th’ bolts t’ call these bots monsters? No. Ya can leave.”

“Oh come on!” Wheeljack stood from his seat abruptly and motioned around him. “They know what they are-”

“ _They_ are under my protection,” Jazz interrupted, “and they are my _friends_. So you can take yar attitude righ’ outta ‘ere!” The glyphs on his arms began to fill with color, servo tips sparking. Sparky flared out his form, crackling with electricity, mouth becoming a ragged red grin. He hovered threateningly over Jazz’s shoulder pauldron. “I won’t tell ya again.”

Ultra Magnus looked like he was silently asking Primus for strength. He placed down some shinax on the bar top and stood. “Come. We should take our leave.”

“Ultra Magnus, ya an’ Bulkhead are welcome to stay.” Jazz said mildly.

“I believe we should stick together to keep ourselves out of trouble.” Ultra Magnus answered, drowning out Wheeljack’s splutters. He put a servo on Wheeljack’s shoulder to steer him towards the door, but the mech shrugged him off and headed to the exit, muttering. 

Bulkhead put down far too many shinax for his and Wheeljack’s drinks as he clumsily got out of his chair. “Um, sorry about that. It was nice meeting you. Bye now.”

The room was silent for exactly two kliks after the Hunters left, then the other-worlders burst into cheers. Jazz was suddenly being presented with pats on the back, shinax and strange trinkets from multiple patrons. Sparky nuzzled him happily.

Jazz caught Prowl’s optics and found warm pride shining back at him. He ducked his helm for a klik, feeling as if he hadn’t done anything deserving of praise. Then he searched the room for Bumblebee and found him still standing at Mirage and Hound’s table. He gave an inquiring look and received a shaky smile and a thumbs up from the minibot.

Well, at least he hadn’t lost his new employee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Wheeljack seems a bit mean right now, but that will be explained later.
> 
> And I took the Wrecker's Code from the Hunter's Code of Teen Wolf. I liked it and it fit. :)


	5. The Spark-eater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz just wanted to make a house call on a sick friend.

A deca-cycle passed after the Hunter’s visit.

Red Alert and Inferno came to the bar the dark-cycle after they left. Red gave a shifty, halting apology for not sending Jazz a better warning of the Hunter’s approach, but he had panicked and locked both himself and Inferno in their home when he’d seen the Wreckers strolling the streets through his ghouls’ optics.

Jazz forgave him, of course. He couldn’t blame the vampire for his paranoia or wanting to protect his conjunx.

Bumblebee settled into his job at The Beat, becoming another familiar, friendly face to the patrons. He was a talented drink mixer and had already come up with a few new tasty concoctions. And he wasn’t afraid to engage Mixmaster in a couple of “spirited” discussions about fuel blends, even though the felida was three times his size.

Also, Jazz may have started taking a private amusement from watching Barricade badly flirting with his new employee. The pack were certainly making no secret of laughing at him every time he made a social stumble, much to his chagrin.

The boltjackal had always struck Jazz as a bit rough around the edges; wilder than the rest of his packmates, gruff when speaking and reliant on instinctive reactions. But this was a side of the beastformer the Polyhexian had never seen before; this awkward, earnest bot.

The minibot still seemed bemused by the beastformer’s honest attention, but he’d began responding with shy smiles and gentle teasing, which only served to make Barricade more glossa-tied. It was almost unbearably adorable.

The atmosphere at the bar was still a bit tense. Rumor was that the Hunters had not yet left Iacon, though no more mecha-animal carcasses missing their spark cases had been found. Prowl’s pack still insisted on having at least one pack member shadow Jazz and Ricochet at all times. The brothers tolerated this because they knew it was coming from a place of honest worry and protective instinct. 

They could also use their bodyguards to their advantage. 

Since Smokescreen had taken to going to work with Ricochet, the orange-visored mech had started picking his processor for his business expertise. Ricochet’s shipping business was already seeing some benefits.

Jazz, on the other servo, shamelessly made use of the beastformers’ strength to help him fetch and carry things as he ran errands and moved furniture and stock around the bar. And the cycle when Prowl happened to be his companion, the time before opened the bar was spent snuggling, letting Prowl reaffirm Jazz’s safety through touch and scent.

On this particular cycle, Jazz’s “assigned” protector was Barricade. The boltjackal lounged on one of the couches while Jazz worked in the kitchen. The Polyhexian hummed to himself as he worked on some energon gel goodies. He planned on introducing a limited supply of goodies at the bar that dark-cycle to test customer interest. There was no long term plan for any sort of substantial solid fuel on the menu, but small, sweet treats seemed doable.

Jazz knew, despite Barricade affecting a disinterested air whenever Jazz looked at him, that he wanted a taste test. He’d caught the boltjackal peeking at him hopefully from over the back of the couch at least twice.

The comm. console in the kitchen started chiming. Jazz still had some gelled energon clinging to his servos so he leaned over and tapped the answer button with his elbow.

“‘Ello?”

“...Hi Jazz.”

It was Bumblebee, but his voice sounded a little off.

“Is somethin’ wrong?” Jazz asked, concerned.

“I’m… I’m not feeling too well. My tank’s feeling upset. You know… probably something I ate…” He mumbled the last sentence.

“Sorry t’ ‘ear tha’. D’ ya need th’ dark-cycle off?”

“...Yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother.” He sounded miserable.

“Ya’re not bein’ a bother. Jus’ take it easy an’ feel better, yeah?” Jazz said soothingly. “Do ya think ya’ll need tomorrow off too?”

“No, I won’t. Um, I mean, I think I’ll be feeling better by then!”

Jazz pretended not to notice the stumbled words. “A’ight, then. Jus’ let me know. Feel better, ‘kay?”

Bee let out a sigh. “Thanks Jazz. See you tomorrow.” And he ended the comm. call. 

“Bumblebee’s sick?” Barricade spoke up from behind him. 

Jazz yelped in fright and spun around to glare at the beastformer who was now standing in the doorway of the kitchen. How did mechs so big move so damn _silently_?

“Primus, Barricade, don’ _do_ tha’. Ya nearly gave me spark failure!”

Barricade winced and grunted, “Sorry… but Bumblebee?”

Jazz sighed went to the sink to rinse his servos. Fragging beastformers and their one track processors. “‘E’s not feelin’ good, so I gave ‘im th’ dark-cycle off.”

The boltjackal’s doorwings flicked up and down in agitation. “It there… anything we can do?” he asked hesitantly.

The Polyhexian hummed thoughtfully while drying his servos. He did, in fact, have some Tranquil Tank in his cabinet. It was a magnesium tonic infused with healing magic that he’d picked up from Trailbreaker’s shop. It was supposed to help with upset tanks and other digestive problems. He didn’t know if it would be very helpful considering Bumblebee’s self-proclaimed knowledge of mineral potions (he might have already tried something similar on his own), but it couldn’t hurt to offer it, right?

He glanced over at Barricade and found the boltjackal doing a rather good impression of Bluestreak’s puppy-optics. The beastformer was so adorably infatuated.

“I’ve got a potion tha’ migh’ do ‘im some good. Wha’d’ya say we pay ‘im a visit an’ see if we can’t ‘elp ‘im feel better?”

Barricade perked up, and Jazz had to stifle a laugh because it looked like if he’d been in the proper form for it, his tail would have been wagging.

Jazz stored the energon goodies in the refrigerator and retrieved the potion from his berthroom. He checked his chronometer. There were several joors until the start of the dark-cycle, so they had plenty of time to go Bee’s apartment and get back in time to open the bar. 

Bumblebee didn’t live very far from The Beat, in a moderately-sized apartment building. It was close enough that Jazz and Barricade decided to walk rather than take vehicle alt-mode. On the way, Jazz got the strangest prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Like he was being watched. Barricade must have felt it too because his plating fluffed out a bit and he kept twisting his helm back and forth taking in their surroundings.

They reached the building without incident, however and rode the elevator up. After a few breems to find the correct door, they knocked.

There were several concerning sounding thumps from inside the apartment.

“Bee?” Jazz called through the door. “Ya a’ight in there?”

A disconcerting crash caused Barricade to throw his weight against the door to force it open. The lock stood no chance against the desperate strength of the beastformer. Barricade stumbled through the doorway, with Jazz right behind him.

Of all the scenarios Jazz had expected to see in the apartment, a strange creature cowering in the corner, half-hidden behind an overturned couch, was not it. Jazz walked forward a few steps to get a better look, despite the alarmed sound Barricade made. 

The creature was slightly larger than a minibot, with skeletal-looking pale yellow armor set over an alarmingly thin protoform. Four, armored tendrils emerged from it’s back ending wickedly sharp barbs. The space where it’s tank would be was transparent and glowed with several dimly flickering balls of light. Pale, pale optics with only the barest hint of blue in them turned to look at the bots in the room. There was nothing in them but terror and misery. The creature flinched and looked away. Fanged denta clenched together as it buried it’s helm into clawed servos and it curled in on itself.

Jazz realized two things in rapid succession.

He was looking at a spark-eater.

He was also looking at Bumblebee.

The Polyhexian felt a dual, sickening sensation of paralyzing horror and galvanizing concern warring in his frame. The concern won out after a klik and he carefully crouched down to Bumblebee’s level. He felt Barricade edge closer as well, seemingly having also figured out the identity of the hiding other-worlder.

“‘Ey…” He whispered. Bumblebee flinched again, curling into a tighter ball. The seed of compassion grew in Jazz’s spark. The minibot was more scared of them then they were of him. 

“It’s okay,” Jazz crooned. “Ain’t gonna ‘urt ya.”

One pale blue optic peeked out at Jazz from between his digits.

A strange cloying sensation fell over Jazz’s plating for a klik. He recognized the feeling of some sort of magic, though he didn’t know what it was for. He felt Barricade whirl towards the door, a growl filling the air.

“Well, looks like I was right about you acting shifty,” a familiar and unwelcome voice said from the doorway.

Wheeljack stepped over the broken door and into the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I hadn't gone super deep into the darker aspects of this 'verse, so get ready...


	6. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheeljack doesn't fight fair.

Wheeljack glanced over the frozen tableau in front of him and snorted. “It’s already exerting its influence over you. Good thing I followed you here or you’d be spark-eater chow.”

The callous words finally seemed to break through Bumblebee’s fear. “I would never do such a thing!” he denied, sounding horrified; his voice strange and multi-tonal. “I don’t eat bots!”

“‘E ain’t done nothin’ t’ us.” Jazz said getting to his pedes and placing himself between the Hunter and the minibot. 

The swordsmech snorted, “As if you would know.”

“Th’ only magic I felt was wha’ever ya did when ya got ‘ere.”

Wheeljack looked surprised for a klik. Then he shrugged, unconcerned, and flicked a small piece of carved onyx fixed to his shoulder pauldron. “Mine is just a common Obscurous charm to keep normals from seeing or hearing anything they shouldn’t. I also have a nifty little signal jammer just in case they do.”

There was something about the way he said it that had a chill of apprehension run down Jazz’s backstrut.

“Wha’ d’ya want?”

Wheeljack pointed past him. “I want the head of that monster on the end of my sword.”

Bumblebee let out a frightened whimper.

“I ain’t gonna let ya ‘urt Bumblebee.” Jazz said spreading his arms protectively in front of the cowering minibot.

“And what can you do?” Wheeljack sneered. “We’re not in Neutral Ground, _Keeper_. You have no power here.” He looked past Jazz at Bumblebee. “Pretty clever of you I have to admit, to get the protection of the Keeper while working at Neutral Ground. Too bad it’s not going to do you any good here.”

Wheeljack wasn’t going to listen to reason, he realized. A wave of helplessness followed by determination flared through Jazz’s spark. He set his pedes more firmly and stood his ground. He might not have any magic, but he wasn’t going to just stand by and do nothing. The larger, dark form of Barricade cut off his view of the swordsmech as the beastformer stepped in front of him. 

With a roll of his shoulders and a crack of his neck plating, armor shifted and moved. Sleek black plating rolled and slotted into place changing Barricade’s profile to an elongated snout with slender audial shells. His doorwings folded and locked down to his back then split into the multitude of smaller sensor-rich panels that immediately raised up on their hinges to indicate that his hackles were well and truly up. A similarly sensor-laden tail lashed behind him. His knees reversed direction and the edges of his pedes split into taloned points onto which he balanced effortlessly. He flexed his servos as long claws folded out of his digits. He finished transforming into his half-shift mode with a growl, glaring at the Hunter with golden optics. 

Every time he saw it, Jazz was reminded that Prowl had once told him the half-shift mode used to be called the beastformer’s “war form”. 

“You will not lay a servo on them,” Barricade’s vocalizer sounded like it was full of grinding mineral deposits.

Wheeljack gave a cocky grin. “One beastformer isn’t going to stop me.”

Barricade gave a frightening smile of his own, full of sharp denta. “I don’t have to stop you, Hunter. I just have to stall you.” Then he took a deep invent and released a deafening howl. High and wild, it caused the plating on the back of Jazz’s neck to prickle.

He was calling the pack, Jazz realized. Did the Obscurous charm not work on them because they were other-worlders?

Apparently, it didn’t, because the Hunter’s dermas twisted into a sneer before a battlemask closed over the bottom of his faceplates. It surprised Jazz when the mech reached into his subspace rather than for his swords. He pulled out a small pouch, grabbed a servoful of something out of it and threw it to his pedes. Thick, choking clouds of smoke filled the apartment. Wheeljack’s form disappeared into the smoke.

Barricade snarled and went on high alert, waiting tensely for any sign or attack from an enemy he couldn’t see. His audials suddenly flicked left and he lashed out. His claws screeched and sparked against a previously unseen sword blade.

“Damn, you’re not making this easy.” Wheeljack sounded far too pleased.

The second sword sliced out of the gloom, which Barricade barely dodged. He growled and aimed another swipe where he thought the Hunter was. He missed. Another gleam of a sword was the only warning they got before one was suddenly stuck through Barricade’s knee plating. A pained yelp escaped his mouth as the leg buckled. Wheeljack used the pommel of the other sword to slam into the back of Barricade’s helm, disorienting him as several receptors were disrupted. The Hunter bodily slammed into the beastformer’s side sending him stumbling into the smoke.

Then he turned to where Jazz was guarding the corner.

“Move, Keeper.”

“No.”

Hard, glinting optics bore into his visor. “Last warning.”

Jazz pressed his dermas together stubbornly and didn’t move.

“Have it your way, then.” Wheeljack threw something at him. Jazz didn’t have time to react. It hit his abdominal plating and exploded into tangling wire rope that wound itself around him from shoulder pauldrons to ankles. He lost his balance and fell to his side with a jarring thump.

“Jazz!” Bumblebee yelled, actually uncurling from his defensive ball and reaching distraughtly for the downed mech.

Jazz thrashed trying to get himself free. He could see Wheeljack’s legs pass by him. “Bumblebee, run!” 

The minibot-turned-spark-eater looked up at the mech looming over him, terror in his optics. Wheeljack raised his swords.

“No!” Jazz screamed.

A dark shape lunged out of the smoke, grabbed the swordmech’s shoulder pauldrons and yanked him back out of sight. Wheeljack roared with rage. The sickening crunch of armor and a wounded yowl made Jazz flinch.

Suddenly, there was a sound like shrieking metal accompanied by a flash of light. Jazz was blinded for a moment. When his visor had rebooted, he saw Trailbreaker standing over the Hunter’s form. Wheeljack had somehow been brought to his knees, his swords in a haphazard pile and out of reach. He seemed to be frozen, optics pale with shock. 

A gentle, unnatural breeze cleared the Hunter’s smoke from the air. Barricade was leaning on the wall nearby, still in his half-shift mode. One of his audial shells had been crushed. Aside from that, some dents and the other obvious injury to his knee, he seemed okay. He limped over and delicately cut through the wire rope binding Jazz with his claws. Relief made Jazz dizzy for a klik. A shaky sigh escaped him as he righted himself. “Ya a’ight, Barricade?”

“Yeah, I’ll heal. But is…?” he trailed off and looked to the corner.

Jazz looked over his shoulder and his spark nearly broke. Bumblebee was curled back into his ball, this time with the tendrils encircling himself too. Jazz crouched down and extended a servo.

“It’s okay now, Bee. Ya’re safe now. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bee didn’t look at him. Without letting himself think too hard about what he was doing, Jazz shuffled forward slowly and then every-so-carefully put his arms around the shaking minibot. Bumblebee froze. 

“Shhh. It’s a’ight.” He focused on calming the frightened bot rather than the fact that he was hugging a spark-eater.

After several long kliks, Bumblebee slumped into Jazz’s arms with a sob. 

Barricade also sat down, a bit awkwardly due to his current form, and started to rumble gently in an effort to comfort the bot. One of Bee’s armored tendrils tentatively wrapped around Barricade’s wrist. Jazz decided to consider that progress.

At that point Jazz was able to focus on what was happening on the other side of the room as he continued to made soothing sounds and stroke Bee’s horned helm.

Trailbreaker had his large, gentle servo resting on Wheeljack’s helm, thumb pressed to the middle of his forehelm. He looked down upon the Hunter; optics weighted with ancient knowledge.

“You have strayed from your code, Hunter. I have opened your processor to the pain you have been suppressing and feeding off of. Feel it. And let it go.”

“I can’t! I have to avenge them!” Wheeljack’s fans whined in distress as if he was running a full tilt. The battlemask snapped open. “All spark-eaters are monsters than need to be destroyed! Why can’t you see that?!”

Trailbreakers voice rumbled through the room. “You look at the poor young one across the room and see a monster? You are blinded by your pain and addicted to your anger. It makes you feel powerful rather than helpless. But it will consume you; burning away at your spark until nothing is left.”

Wheeljack’s helm snapped up, optics glaring. “A spark-eater killed my creators!”

“And Hunters killed mine,” Barricade suddenly spoke.

Wheeljack’s optics found the beastformers across the room. Something unspoken passed between them. 

The witch’s servo glowed a soft, flickering violet.

Wheeljack’s faceplates twisted with shock and horror. Trailbreaker removed his servo and the Hunter fell forward onto his servos, gasping in great invents of air. He looked like he was going to purge. “What the frag did you just do to me?!”

“I showed you a vision of what you could become and the consequences of such.” The witch said gravely. “Is your crusade worth what you saw?” 

The Hunter’s mouth opened and closed, all witty remarks and sarcasm seeming to have fled him at that moment. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that.”

The witch was quiet for a long moment as the Hunter wrestled with an internal struggle. “Feel your pain.” Trailbreaker commanded inexorably. “And Let. It. Go.”

The words reverberated in the room. Wheeljack’s denta gritted in agony and he slammed his fists down onto the floor, releasing a bellow of emotional torment. His frame shook with silent sobs. The witch silently stood vigil. Jazz, Barricade and Bumblebee watched warily from the corner. After several long breems, Wheeljack pushed himself back up onto his knees venting harshly. He looked exhausted... and lost.

Barricade’s good ear swiveled to the still-broken door of the apartment. He sighed in relief. “The pack’s here.”

He gave Bumblebee a confused look when the bot let out an alarmed squeak and the tendril around his wrist tightened involuntarily.

“It’s gonna be a’ight.” Jazz assured the minibot. “They ain’t gonna ‘urt ya. We’ll make sure o’ tha’.”

Barricade must have communicated through the pack bond that they were no longer in immediate danger because the canis pack didn’t all burst in the room looking for violence. 

Prowl stepped carefully over the broken door first, followed by the rest of the pack and Ricochet. Smokescreen must have dragged him along when he heard Barricade’s howl for help… Scratch that. Ricochet had probably insisted on coming with him.

None of them seemed to know what to make of the scene they walked in on. Prowl made an alarmed sound in the back of this throat and took two long strides towards Jazz and Barricade. 

“Ya’re scarin’ Bumblebee.” Jazz said.

The alpha stopped in his tracks, helm tilting in confusion. " _I'm_ scaring _him_?"

His brother was the first one to find his vocalizer after that. “Somebot want t’ tell us wha’ th’ frag is goin’ on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz-muse: "I can fix everything with hugs, right?"  
> Me: *facepalm* "Sure."


	7. The Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers are given.

While Trailbreaker fixed the door, Nightbeat and Smokescreen righted the couch. Jazz immediately claimed a spot for himself and Bumblebee; the only other piece of furniture in the room was an armchair and Bee needed the emotional support of a close EMF right at that moment. Bee didn’t curl back into Jazz’s arms, but he did press up to his side. The minibot’s field gave away just how touch-starved he was. 

The minibot grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to his chest, covering the sight of his transparent tank full of flickering sparks.

Prowl sat on Jazz’s other side. Wary of the spark-eater, but trusting Jazz’s judgement of the small bot.

Barricade sat a little awkwardly in front of the couch since there was no more room on it. He’d mostly shifted back to mech, but he’d yet to fold away his audial shells due to the injury. Bee also still had a tendril wrapped around the beastformer’s wrist and didn’t seem to realize it. The boltjackal just let him continue to hold onto him with no comment.

Trailbreaker guided a still shell-shocked Wheeljack to the armchair and then sat down beside him on the floor. Ricochet and the rest of the pack sprawled out in a loose circle on the floor between the two pieces of furniture.

Before an awkward silence could descend, Jazz turned to Trailbreaker. “Not tha’ I ain’t glad ya’re ‘ere, ‘cause I am, bu’ ‘ow did ya know we needed ‘elp?”

The witch offered a small, strained smiled. “I heard Barricade’s howl. I apologize for not getting here sooner, but I needed to scry your location. My audials can only interpret, they are not sensitive enough to pinpoint location.”

“Thanks for coming.” Barricade grunted. “The pack would have gotten here, but not before I took a few more dents.” He winced as his injured ear twitched.

“I have plenty of Welding Oil at the shop that I’d be willing to give you.” Trailbreaker offered.

Jazz knew Welding Oil was a cure-all healing potion.

Barricade glanced inquiringly at Prowl for permission. The Alpha nodded in gratitude to the witch. “Thank you for your generosity and your timely intervention. I do not like seeing my packmates injured.” He ended his sentence with a cold look at the Hunter seated across from him.

Wheeljack’s gaze bounced from Prowl to Bumblebee to Jazz and finally to Trailbreaker. “Why… why did you help… him?” He sounded tired and curious rather than angry.

“I have known Bumblebee for a very long time. But to properly answer that question, you must ask Bumblebee to tell his story.” the witch stated.

All optics turned to the minibot. He scrunched as if to hide behind the throw pillow.

Barricade gently grasped the tendril around his wrist garnering Bee’s attention. “Tell us?” he asked earnestly.

Bumblebee took in a soft fortifying vent and began to speak hesitantly. The fangs made him lisp adorably. “My family... wasn’t always like this… we were cursed by a sorcerer... a long time ago. My great-grand carrier worked for a sorcerer, managing her household and fetching ingredients for her. She fell in love with him, but he didn’t feel the same. When she confessed to him, he refused her. She… called him a spark-stealer and then turned him into one. She cursed his line to suffer his same fate. Even after the sorcerer deactivated, it still persisted.”

“Tha’s horrible.” Jazz whispered.

“An’ overkill.” Ricochet commented with a disturbed look.

“Those who can use magic are just as diverse as other-worlders and normal cybertronians.” Trailbreaker said gravely. “Some are wise and giving while others are selfish and vengeful.” 

“If it’s a curse, it can be broken, right?” Bluestreak asked. “That’s how all the stories go. There’s a loophole somewhere.”

Bumblebee shook his head. “We’ve tried. We’ve tried so many different cures. Some of them have rebounded and caught those we love in the crossfire. So, my great-grand carrier took an oath that was passed down through the generations: we would never eat the spark of a sentient being. It… makes us weak, but it keeps us sane.”

“What do you mean ‘sane’?” Wheeljack inquired suspiciously.

Bumblebee frowned sadly. “One of my uncles thought he could turn the curse into a power. Become a vigilanty of sorts. He started hunting criminals and eating their sparks, but he lost himself to the hunt. Started hunting innocents. ” Bumblebee’s optics flickered up to Trailbreaker for a klik. “We… had to get help to put him down.”

“I remember reading something that sounded like that,” Nightbeat said slowly with a look of concentration, “but it couldn’t have been your uncle. That was over a thousand vorns ago.”

Bumblebee gave him a pained look. “One of the ‘benefits’ of the curse is that we live the same lifespan of a spark-eater too. But immortality isn’t worth the price, trust me. I only change into… this when I have to eat. And I only eat mecha-animals. They don’t have everything we need to stay ‘healthy’, so my family got really good as supplementing our… diet with mineral potions. And we just… got used to being hungry.” He looked miserably down at his claws. “I wish I could change back.”

“Why can’t ya? Ya ‘aven’t looked like this b’fore.” Jazz said.

“Tonight is the anniversary of the cycle we got cursed. My whole family shifts for a full light and dark cycle. I can’t shift back into me until the next light cycle starts.”

Bumblebee fell silent and several looks were exchanged around the pack.

Jazz spoke to Trailbreaker; breaking the silence to slightly change the subject and distract the minibot. “So, ya said ya’ve known Bee fo’ a while?

“Yes.” Trailbreaker said, picking up on what Jazz was trying to do, “I have been friends with his family since I was a young witch-apprentice.”

“Wha’s th’ difference b’tween a witch an’ a sorcerer? Are they th’ same thing?”

“No, witch-sparks are those that generate their own magic, while sorcerers are just able to manipulate the magic around them. They are in that range of ‘special’ sparks that can sense magic or get pulled into the goings-on of the supernatural world.” He looked specifically at Wheeljack. “The same sparks that beget Hunters.”

After a klik, Wheeljack stood. “I should go. I need to meet back up with the Enclave.” He gathered his swords and sheathed them. He frowned as Bumblebee flinched back at his movement. The Hunter knelt in front of the minibot. “I will not trouble you again. You have my word.”

“You… can’t tell anybot what I am.” Bumblebee pleaded. “I’m… not strong enough to defend myself… as you saw.”

Wheeljack’s gaze bounced from Jazz to Barricade. “You seem to have plenty of protectors, but…” He put a servo over his chestplates. “I swear upon my spark not to reveal you. Even to my Enclave. And… I’m sorry.”

Wheeljack stood and left before Bumblebee could answer.

“Are we just going to let him go?” Streetwise demanded glaring at the closed door. “He attacked our pack.”

“I think wha’ever Trailbreaker did t’ ‘im made ‘im suffer enough.” Jazz interjected before he could rabble rouse the others.

“What did Trailbreaker do?” Skids queried.

“I showed him a vision of what he would become if he let his anger and pain rule his spark.” The witch answered solemnly. 

“Woah. Ya can see th’ future?” Ricochet exclaimed.

“In a fashion. The future is fluid. The paths we walk are made of oil; they shift and change with our choices. As we traverse, the path crystallizes under our pedes. It’s much easier to look into the past as it has already solidified. But sometimes, the way we act and our habitual choices will crystallize a future until we cannot escape it. Wheeljack’s attack on Bumblebee would have set him on an inescapable path. He would have continued to use darker and darker tactics and magics to attain his goals until his own Enclave would have been forced to take action against him.” The witch sighed sadly, edged with weariness, and slumped to lean on the armchair. “The encounter would have ended… tragically.”

“Are ya okay?” Jazz asked, concerned.

“All magic has a price.” Trailbreaker explained. “Though for witches it is usually just our energy reserves. I will be fine with some rest.”

The room fell silent again.

“Jazz?” Bumblebee asked hesitantly, he was nervously peeling the paint from his claws. “Do I… still have a job?”

“O’ course ya do.” Jazz responded instantly.

The minibot bowed his helm and whispered, “Thank you.” He looked exhausted.

“Do ya want somebot t’ stay with ya durin’ th’ dark-cycle?” Jazz asked.

“I know you have to go open The Beat, but… maybe Trailbreaker?” Bee peeked hopefully at the big mech. 

The witch smiled back at him and nodded, “Of course, my friend.”

Jazz caught Barricade’s slightly disappointed frown. He’d have to explain to the young boltjackal that Bee didn’t mean it as any sort of slight. He just didn’t know Barricade as well as Trailbreaker. Less than two deca-cycles verses over a thousand vorns was a big gap.

“Will Moonracer be at th’ shop?” Jazz questioned. “I’d like t’ get tha’ Weldin’ Oil fo’ Barricade.”

“Yes, she should be there.” Trailbreaker acknowledged.

“We’ll take Barricade to the shop to get healed.” Smokescreen volunteered with a vague wave at the rest of the pack.

Bumblebee reached a clawed servo towards the boltjackal’s crushed audial, but stopped short before actually touching it. A sorrowful expression crossed his faceplates. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.”

“I would do it again.” Barricade stated bluntly. 

Bee stared at him for a klik and then looked as if he wanted to cry. A sort of comical panic came over Barricade’s faceplates as the minibot buried his face into the throw pillow he was still holding.

“Did I say something wrong?!”

Bee gave a shaky sounding laugh and looked up again. He smiled tremulously, “No. It was very sweet. Thank you… Oh, sorry.” He seemed to finally realize that he still had Barricade’s wrist wrapped in a tendril. It unwound and fell away.

“I don’t mind.” Barricade murmured.

Prowl suddenly reset his vocalizer and stood. He held out a servo for Jazz. “We should be going if we want to make it to The Beat in time for opening.” 

“Righ’. Bee, I’ll see ya tomorrow fo’ ya shift.”

“Okay.”

Prowl continued, “Smokescreen, please make sure Barricade gets to the shop before it closes.”

“Sure thing, Alpha.” While Prowl had sounded cool and unaffected, there was definitely a note of teasing in the beta’s voice.

They left to the sounds of shuffling as the pack made ready to vacate the spark-eater’s apartment and Ricochet asking, “Can I come t’ th’ magic shop too?”

When they got to street level, Prowl sighed and pulled Jazz close as they walked. He nuzzled Jazz’s audial, hidden tension falling away from his plating.

“Wha’s th’ matter?”

Prowl chuffed. “Only you could make friends with a spark-eater.”


End file.
